terminallyCapricious wrote:abscond up the stairs.UP THE MOTHERFUCKING GAS SOAKED STAIRS.

'

You head up the GAS SOAKED STAIRS, careful not to slip this time, to the BLOODY KITCHEN once more. The PROBABLE VIKING follows closely, closing and locking the cellar door behind him, and for added measure, he wedges a moldy CHINA CABINET against the door as well.

Now that you can see him, you realize that he is, in fact, a VIKING, or, he fancies himself one, anyway. He is dressed in a HORNED HELMET (now with machete-gouge) and a BEAR SKIN TUNIC, and is currently wielding the largest club you've ever seen. He's no smaller in the sunlight, but you can tell he's clearly human, despite the nest of tangled facial hair covering most of his face.

Finished with his barricade, he turns to you, clearing his throat before talking; "Did ya see Dick's body? Sure hope you didn't."

It seems he DOESN'T YET KNOW what you've done. It's up to you whether you tell him or not. He looks like a GOOD NATURED FELLOW, and would probably just laugh it off.

terminallyCapricious wrote:kill the man.OR JUST SAY I DONT KNOW.either one works.HONK.

You pretend to be completely shocked, and then, putting on your best Shocked House Wife voice, half-screech, "I had no idea he was dead! How terrible!"

The large man BUYS IT COMPLETELY, and says, "Sure sorry, Wilson. I forgot how close yous two was, and well, shit, I shouldn'ta said it so bluntly... Man, fuck, this is terrible." Before you can say anything else, he GRABS YOU TIGHTLY, and gives you a bone-creaking BEAR HUG. You can hardly breathe in his MAN GRITTY EMBRACE, which is in no way GAY OR GIRLY, although it is a tiny bit SMELLY, seeing as your face is wedged in his armpit. After a few agonizing seconds or maybe minutes, he drops you unceremoniously onto your ass.

It's about then that he breaks into hysterics and begins sobbing - apparently forgetting the men who were PURSUING YOU, and now are BANGING ON THE DOOR.

In an effort to pull him back to your world, and from his APPARENT GRIEF FOR DICK, you say the first thing that comes to mind;

ectoBiologist wrote:ask the man if he is an abnormally tall dwarf!

"Are you an abnormally tall dwarf?"

For some reason, this makes him stop crying IMMEDIATELY, finishing it off with a single nasal-snort, and stare at you, his expression that of confusion and... outrage?

"What the fuck did ya say to me?" He asks, a hint of anger in his voice.

"...I asked if you were a tall dwarf." You reply simply, UNSURE OF HOW TO CONTINUE THIS CONVERSATION.

"Yer fuckin' kiddin' me, Wilson. Dick dies, I'm cryin', and then you start makin' fun of my disability?" He roars, before making a half-hearted LUNGE FOR YOU. He, apparently, is an ABNORMALLY TALL DWARF, and it's insulting to point it out.

As his enormous hand grabs your throat, you remember an earlier command...

terminallyCapricious wrote:kill the man.

SOUNDS GOOD TO YOU, considering the circumstances.

Still grasping the machete, you make another attempt at his life - and this time, succeed a bit better, when you SHOW HIM YOUR STABS, and jam the blade into his chest. He twitches once, his hand grasping a bit tighter just for a second, before letting go and staring at his new CHEST WOUND.

"Oh bloody fuckin' hell." He mutters, before collapsing in a pile of BEAR SKIN, MAN GRIT, and CHERRY RED BLOOD.

You don the VIKING HELMET, which adds +3 to your ARMOR STAT, despite its damaged state. Unfortunately, you CANNOT EQUIP THE CLUB, for you are not STRONG ENOUGH, so you put the tunic on instead, giving you another +3 to armor.

This all seems INCREDIBLY SILLY, considering the foes banging at the kitchen door, but COMMANDS ARE COMMANDS!

Now dressed up like Moondog or Odin or something (you never really liked vikings all that much - knights were cooler), you head into the LIVING ROOM which is directly off the kitchen. Like the kitchen, it is SCARCELY FURNISHED, with just a moth-eaten sofa, broken 1950s-styled TV and a rotten coffee table there. It looks like there MIGHT OF BEEN bookshelves at some point, but they are just hunks of rotten paper and wood now.

From there, you continue on to the DINING ROOM, which contains just a rotten dining table and some matching, just-as-rotten chairs. How boring!

Then, you go upstairs, or, attempt to, for half way up, they GIVE IN UNDER YOUR WEIGHT, sending you plummeting down into the small storage room under them. At this rate, you should PROBABLY JUST AVOID STAIRS FOR THE REST OF FOREVER, as this KEEPS HAPPENING. You take some fall damage, but what's another bruise now?

You glance around the dark room you now find yourself in, and from what you can gather from the shadows, it's VERY SMALL and lined with shelves, which hold all sorts of useless nicknacks and rusty paint cans. There are some cleaning supplies, including a MOP AND BUCKET tucked in the corner, which is JUST A LITTLE LEWD, and... you're pretty sure there is a body sitting across from you.

It's a man dressed up as a clown, and he's NOT MOVING. It's either a GREAT HALLOWEEN PROP, or a corpse. A clown corpse.

Okay, you're really pretty sure that isn't even an action. It's just a sound effect, man!

arachnidsGrip wrote:Flip the fuck out.

This, however, is defientally something you can do.

You proceed to FLIP THE FUCK OUT, flailing your arms all over the place.

In fact, you even decide to DRAW this action real quick, using a piece of paper and a box of crayons from the shelf nearest you. It's really shitty, because the LIGHTING SUCKS, and also you never could draw well, and you're still terrified. Really, you just drew the KEY OBJECTS, which is the HOLE IN THE CEILING, the CLOWN, YOURSELF, and the CLEANING SUPPLIES.

As the terror sinks in, as you stare into the rubber mask and the sunken eyes behind it, you remember something horrible, something you could of lived with forgetting forever...

When you were eleven, you visited the CARNIVAL, and had a great time. Unfortunately, you became SEPARATED FROM YOUR GUARDIAN and had to ask one of the filthy carnies for help finding them.

You picked a clown.

A fat, greasy clown, named POGO.

Little did you know, this clown was an ESCAPED CLONE of John Wayne Gacy, used for a bizarre study on the criminal mind. Little did you also know, he was STILL A CHILD MOLESTER. You were fortunate the carnival's owner found you before the hacksaw came out, really.

You shiver away from the memory, and return to the present. Really, this isn't that bad, you decide. He's dead, after all.

honk

What was that.

HONK

WHAT WAS THAT.

honkHONKhonk

Oh god.

Oh god.

He isn't dead, and he can apparently hear the commands the voices give you.

arachnidsGrip wrote:Pick up the mop and proceed to whack the clown with it.

That sounds like the best possible thing you can do when trapped in a room with an UNDEAD PEDOPHILE CLOWN. You ask yourself how you KNOW the clown is a pedophile, but the answer is simple; ALL CLOWNS ARE PEDOPHILES.

heeheehoohoohahahonk

Enough goofing around - he isn't going to stop unless you MAKE HIM STOP, with POSSIBLY ILLEGAL CLEANING GOODS. Like a NINJA WITH A MACHETE, you whack the fowl jester upside the head with the cleaning end of the mop, which does LITTLE TO DAMAGE HIM.

hahahehe

He laughs at your attempt to maim him, actually, which is PRETTY SAD. Suddenly, you remember the MACHETE you have, and equip it instead. You hack at him like a... gladiator with an umbrella, or something, and cause QUITE A BIT MORE DAMAGE than you previously did to the viking. Soon the clown's mask is in ribbons, and you can see the thin skull underneath - which obviously isn't the source of the noise. You doubt this individual's vocal cords are still intact, really!

You lack a phone, so calling the GHOST BUSTERS is going to be a little hard. Hell, you don't even have a vacuum (or, a source of power for one, if you did!) so you can attempt this exorcism yourself!

That leaves only one possible option...

You prepare your body for a manly man screech that only cavemen and those truly in need can pull off, before turning towards the hole in the roof, and letting out a bellow that surely cannot be matched;

"I NEED THE GHOST BUSTERS, STAT. OR JUST BILL MURRAY. I AM NOT PICKY."

Thanks to your MANLY MAN lungs, the sound is carried off for miles. Now you play the waiting game.

After a long period of DELIBERATION, and real-life laziness, you decide to SING A SONG; the very first one that comes to your mind, to be exact... and, considering the circumstances, it's no surprise when you begin whispering, "who you gonna call? Ghost Busters!" under your breath. It's the only song you can sing in a time like this.

we all know what song to sing..."when there's something strange, and it don't look good!"

afterwards move the body to see if it is sitting on anything.

You're already singing a song! But, that suggestion isn't a bad one.

You gingerly lift the body, trying to touch it as little as possible, especially considering it kind of feels like an over-ripe peach covered in a haysack, and move it aside. Underneith, you find CLOWN DOLL, which seems to be the source of laughter.

heheHOOHOO

Oh god.

Also, someone is BANGING ON THE DOOR. Probably those thugs from earlier!